Crashed
by XxSolsticeSolacexX
Summary: In the looney bin, Zack never expected to meet someone like her. Like a train, Mikayla crashes into his life. Before long, he's consumed by this abnormal girl and learns that she doesn't belong at McKinley. In return, she shows him the same. ZOC BB HA
1. Prologue

_Hey, guys. S.S. here with a new story. Yeah, I know I already have a Bones/ZackxOC fanfiction to work on--and I will still be working on it--but I've had the idea for this one for a long time. I'm entirely sure where I'm going with this one unlike "Anything But Ordinary", but I wrote up the prologue and decided to post it anyway. Besides, I really wanted to do a story that takes place AFTER Zack is emitted into the looney bin while "Anything But Ordinary" takes place beforehand. Anyway, here it is. I hope you all enjoy and if you do, please review. Constructive criticism is welcome, flaming is not. And if you like this, please check out my other ZackxOC story , "Anything But Ordinary". Thanks!_

**_Dislcaimer: I do NOT own Bones. I wish I did 'cuz then, Zack would be the one I snuggled up to at night and not my body pillow. ^-^_**

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**Prologue**

**Dr. Lance Sweets** had quite a few interesting patients at McKinley's Mental Facility for the Criminally Insane. However, very few could contend with the person the psychologist had scheduled to work with today. She was definitely on the top of the young man's list, but that was probably because she didn't actually belong at the institution.

Yet, at the same time, she did...

With the guidance of one of the caretakers, a very tall and burly African American, Sweets was led to the room where the said female was waiting for him for her appointment. Neither spoke as they filed down one of McKinley's near blindingly white and impeccably clean hallways. Very little noise reached that hallway as very few patients were present in it or in the rooms that lined it. All of the noise was in the cafeteria, the lounge, and/or in the wards.

The taller and more muscular male stopped at one door. Sweets took out his key-card and swiped it through the key-lock, opening the metal entrance. There was a set of beeps and the caretaker pulled opened the door allowing the men to step inside.

Unlike the hallways, these rooms for therapy sessions weren't as bright. The room was painted a darker color of a dull gray and the only light was from a small ceiling lamp and the sunlight peeping through the blinds of the single window. It was basically empty with only two chairs and a single rectangular table being the furnishing.

"Hey, MK, Dr. Sweets is here." the caretaker announced, a bit of amused affection to his deep, husky voice.

The young woman, who was originally the only person in the room, opened her eyes and turned them to the two males. A twinkled shimmered in them as a mischievous smirk tugged at her lips.

She was older than Sweets, but not by much; only by two years. However, her big almost crystalline eyes and her usual playful grin made her seem much younger. The woman's hair—reaching just shy of her shoulders—was red, dark crimson, which was obviously dyed. Recently, if Sweets had to guess, but only because the last time he had met with her, her hair had been jet black. The red brought the sky blue of her icy optics and made her creamy skin less pale. She was of average height, but her body's womanly development was below average having little to no curves. Yet, despite that, she was more toned than most women—and some men—and took great pride in that.

"Thanks, D." Mikayla Kaplan said jovially before greeting Sweets. "Whassup, Lance?" she said, with a lazy, but playful salute. Sweets made a face.

"Play nice, kids." D told the younger people. "I'll be right outside." He gave them a wave with his meaty hand and left, closing the door behind him.

"Bye, D!" the redheaded woman shouted, only speaking louder than necessarily to make Sweets flinch, which he did.

"Must you be so loud, Mikayla?" Sweets scolded, rubbing his ears. "And what have I told you about calling me Lance?"

"Uh...do it?" she teased, her smirk plastered on her face as always.

"Only in private. Don't call me by my first name in front of the staff. They won't take me seriously otherwise." the dark-haired man pointed out, strolling over to the chair across from her.

"And the fact that you look like you're twelve doesn't have anything to do with that?" she countered. She leaned back in her seat leisurely, crossing her arms and legs.

Sweets shot her a look before addressing her newly colored hair. "Your hair is red."

"Really?" Mikayla feigned shock and at her tugged at a naturally straight strand. "I didn't notice!"

"Where did you get the dye to do it?"

"Kiki from the front desk bought it for me. Helped me too."

Her therapist rubbed the bridge of his nose. Even after being her psychologist for so long, he still hadn't figured out how Mikayla managed to get the people on the McKinley staff to do her bidding. Sure, she wasn't downright insane like the majority of the patients there, making her less frightening, but she was still a criminal. Clearly a manipulative one. At least, she used such for good..._mostly._

"Your hair should dead at this point." Sweets stated. How many times has she colored her hair? At least three times since he had met her.

"Nah," Mikayla waved her hand dismissively. "Kiki gets me the good shit with the shampoo that keeps my hair smooth and nourished. No worries."

He shook his head with a sigh. Mikayla just beamed, her smile like the Cheshire Cat's. "So whaddya bring me, _Lance_?" she asked earnestly.

He stared at her for a moment before deeply frowning. The baby-faced male reached down to the bag he had placed on the ground beside him to fish for the item he had brought with him for her. When Sweets finally found it, he pulled it out and placed the small book on the metallic surface of the table they sat at. "Naruto, volume twenty-four. That's the one you needed, right?" He slid the graphic novel to her, not sounding the least bit happy.

Yes, Sweets was a victim to her persuasive personality too much to his deep dismay. She had somehow convinced him to bring her manga with every visit. At least, Mikayla had asked for something that was harmless and didn't cost too much—except maybe a little of his pride.

She beamed brightly and took the comic book. "Yeah. Thanks a bunch, man. I could kiss you."

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the very small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth—he couldn't deny she had an infectious smile when it was genuine. "Try to control to yourself from doing so, Mikayla."

"Trust me, that won't be hard." Mikayla stated, her tone distracted as she flipped through the pages of her manga.

He deadpanned, his smile faltering. _She gives and she takes..._ "Anyway, we should probably begin our session for today," he announced boldly. His brows furrowed when he noticed his patient and friend—of sorts—wasn't paying attention. "And that means _not_ reading your book, Mikayla." Sweets said sternly, snatching it away from her. He placed it aside.

She scowled and huffed. "_Fine_." Mikayla crossed her inked arms. "Party pooper." she grumbled.

Ignoring her comment and childish pout, Sweets proceeded with the matter at hand. "How has your week been so far?" he questioned, folding his hands before him.

"Eh," she shrugged careless, her voice not holding its normal energy or cheerfulness.

"You know that's not an acceptable response, Mikayla. It's needs to be more elaborate."

"...It was mind-numbingly tedious and long. Better?"

"Despite the unnecessary hostility, yes. Did anything exciting happen this week?"

Mikayla's tongue absentmindedly played with her lip ring. "Not really. Only in Arts and Crafts Wednesday." she muttered.

"Care to extend on that?" Sweet's suggested with an arched brow.

"Not really, but since you're gonna make me—Tom let us paint whatever came to mind when we thought of nighttime." she claimed.

"And what did you paint?"

"The Sirius Star Cluster in the Ursa Major Moving Group."

"You certainly love your astronomy." Sweets grinned, knowing how much the twenty-four-year enjoyed the planets, the stars, galaxies, and so on.

"Whatever." Mikayla looked away, her face expressionless, but her cheeks a faint pink. He smiled more.

Nonetheless, his smile faded when he knew he had to ask the next question—one of the questions he always asked during her therapy sessions. "Any dreams lately?"

She was silent for a moment, her cold eyes drifting to the window to try and see what was outside. "...Nightmares, you mean." she corrected dryly.

"Yes," Sweets inwardly frowned at her tone and expression. Despite the fact that Mikayla was difficult, sarcastic, laid-back, carefree, and frankly, annoying, she was more enjoyable to be around when she was like that. "Have you had any since we met last?"

"Yeah..."

"And?"

"Nothing new. Same old, same old. Screaming, blood, sirens."

Sweets stared at her gravely. She hid it well, but Sweets could read her better than anyone and knew the grief, anger, and pain she was holding back. "We will get you out of here, Mikayla." he promised.

Slowly, she glanced to him, her eyes like ice. "Why? I honestly belong here."

"No, you don't."

"I've killed, just like pretty much everyone here."

"Mikayla," he began. "Staying stuff like that is the reason _why_ you're still in a mental institution."

"Just tellin' the truth." she shrugged.

Sighing deeply in frustration, Sweets shook his head and rose to his feet. Their sessions always ended like that, it was becoming routine. He was intelligent, a genius, but he truthfully did not know how to convince Mikayla that she did not belong at McKinley's, criminal or not.

"That's enough for today." he announced. "I'll be back next week, same time, same day. Before our next appointment please keep writing in your journal, I'll look at it then, and please try to rethink as to why you're still here and if you _really_ belong within these walls."

"Which I do." Mikayla remarked without missing a beat.

He frowned. "Just _think_ about it, Mikayla." he told her firmly.

"Will do, Lance." She saluted him again languidly.

Just nodding, Sweets grabbed his bag, took out his key-card and swiped it through the key-lock. The door beeped and became unlocked. "Bye, Mikayla. See you next Friday." he said.

"Toodles. Catch ya later, Lance." Her grin returned, but wasn't as big.

The young man frowned once again, but left without saying another word.

Oh, yes, she was one of his more "interesting" patients...


	2. The Collision

_Chapter one! Hope you enjoy! If you do, review! Also check out my other ZackOC story "Anything But Ordinary"! Thankies! Sorry it's short._

**_Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bones. Sure wished I did. _**

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**Chapter One: The Collision**

**It wasn't **the Jeffersonian, nowhere near, but Zack Addy had learned at that point to think of McKinley as his home—or at least tried to think of it as such. Sure, it didn't share the same warmth or security that the Jeffersonian held for the young genius nor did it have his surrogate family, but the loony bin was the place he going to live in for the rest of his life so he had to get use to it despite what it lacked. It is what he deserved after all for following such flawed logic.

It was nearing lunchtime, so there had been no activities planned that hour for the residents. Thus, and not being particularly hungry just yet, the floppy-haired brunet decided to use his free time to just walk around—something he did quite often.

Ultimately, on his walk, Zack found himself in a hallway that was lined with artwork. Naturally, it was pieces that had been done by the patients during Arts and Crafts. He wasn't surprised to see nothing of his pinned up at the corked boards since he wasn't an artist by any means—that had been Angela's job at the Jeffersonian. Zack wasn't even surprised by the very abstract paintings, drawings, or pictures that had been hung since most of the patients were insane and had wicked tempers—Zack made sure to stay clear of those, which was hard since there were so many.

However, out of all the works, there was one painting that he was mildly shocked and intrigued by.

It was a painting of stars. By now just any stars, the Sirius Star Cluster in the Ursa Major Moving Group. He wasn't an expert at art, but he couldn't help but think it was well done. Not to mention, "This is very accurate." he said aloud softly.

"It better fucking be or I have no right to have a fascination with astronomy." came a female's voice that was rugged, but airy.

Arching a brow, Zack turned and peered over his shoulder to see a woman standing there. He blinked.

Her hair was dark, the color of blood, but her complexion and eyes were light. A wicked smirk was on her cherry lips and her long, lanky muscled arms were crossed over chest. She wore the same dull-hued clothing he wore, minus his black gloves, which were his own accessory. Tattoos of black intricate tribal designs snaked around her right arm, from her wrist and probably to her shoulder since the markings disappeared into her sleeve. The word "love" was written in blue on her left wrist in big Celtic writing. Her nails were black at red and there were at least five piercing in each ear and a piercing on her lip.

Zack stared, blinking owlishly.

She looked like a lot of the patients in McKinley having tattoos and multiple piercings. On the other hand, the stranger didn't seem like those said people at all. He couldn't read people or anything like that being socially inept, but there was something in the woman's icy blue optics that made her seem different, made her seem like she did not belong in a mental institution—at least not entirely, like him.

"See something ya like?" That impish smirk grew on the on the woman's white face, placing both hands on her hips.

His brows furrowed. "Are you asking me if I like your painting?" he asked hesitantly—not understanding the hidden meaning in her inquiry. "That is yours, correct?"

She laughed, it being a loud, but not being an unpleasant noise. "That's not what I meant, but yeah, that's mine. Like?" The short-haired female stepped up to stand beside him.

"It is remarkably precise," He looked back to the starry painting. "The distance between the stars are correct, not off by a single centimeter. The coloring and sizing is exact as well."

"Thanks!" she beamed proudly.

"Do you enjoy astronomy?" Zack looked to her. She was a good five inches shorter than himself, average for a woman of twenty-four.

"Hell yeah. What's not to like? Stars, moon phases, suns, black holes, planets, galaxies—I could go on for days." The woman spoke so animatedly, waving her hands occasionally as if to demonstrate her point. Her wintery stare turned to him. "How 'bout you?"

"Yes, I have to concur. It is quite an engrossing science." he nodded, speaking stoically. A snort of laughter escaped from her, but he wasn't sure why. "What do you find humorous?" Zack asked with furrowed brows.

"You talk kinda weird. Real stoic, proper, and smart-like." she said through a giggle.

"I am smart."

"Are you now?"

"Yes, my I.Q. is above 163."

She whistled. "Call me "impressed"!" she beamed.

"Is that your name?" Zack inquired puzzled. That was an odd name. Then again, his middle name, Uriah, wasn't exactly normal.

"Fuck, no. Name's Mikayla Kaplan." The redhead thrust her hand to him to shake. "And yours is?"

He stared at her hand then, looked to her face. "Zack Addy." he introduced himself, hesitantly shaking her hand. It was warm, but slightly rough with calluses.

"Nice to meet you, Zack."

"You as well, Miss. Kaplan."

Scowling, she flicked his forehead. "Ouch!" he yelped. He rubbed the spot looking at her incredulously. "I don't think I deserved that."

She smirked devilishly. "A Pirates of the Caribbean reference. Nice." Mikayla nodded in approval.

"I beg your pardon?"

"...You don't know--" She shook her head, shaking away the shock that he didn't know such a famous series of movies. Maybe he just never saw them or just didn't like movies—a concept that was hard to believe, but possible. "Never mind."

"Why did you flick me?" Zack asked.

"You called me "Miss. Kaplan"."

"I do not understand your logic."

"Don't call me that. Call me MK or Mikayla. None of that "Miss. Kaplan" bullshit. It makes me sound old. Understand?"

Afraid of being hit again, Zack just nodded. Her smirked return. "Good. Now," she blew her naturally straight bangs from her face. "Ya hungry?"

He answered cautiously, not knowing how she'd react to it, "I could eat something."

"Awesomeness." She grabbed his wrist. "I'm starving. Let's chow down. I heard they're serving fish-sticks today."

Flabbergasted, Zack didn't know whether to resist or not. It wasn't like she had hit him again or that she was kidnapping him, Mikayla was just taking him to the cafeteria. Nevertheless, he could not comprehend what was going on.

Why was this girl acting they had been friends for years? Why didn't she seem to be like everyone as McKinley? She actually seemed normal...okay, maybe that wasn't the proper word, but it was the only word in Zack's huge vocabulary that came to mind. And why wasn't he doing anything about it? It was like he was just accepting her actions, which was completely illogical, but true, nonetheless.

Who was Mikayla?


	3. Belonging

_Yay! Chapter two. Thank you to Greytune for review the previous two segements and thanks to those who favored and watched this story--thankies. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's nice and long--ten pages almost. Anyway, please enjoy. If you do, please review and check out my other Zack/OC story "Anything But Ordinary". Constructive critcism is welcomed, flaming is not. Thanks._

**_Disclaimer: I do NOT own Bones because if I did Zack would never had become a reoccuring character._**

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**Chapter Two: Belonging**

**He knew** every word in the English language and even knew words that weren't English. However, he couldn't find just one to describe his new found friend, Mikayla—well, if you could really call the two friends. Zack had known the young woman for nearly a month now and still hadn't figured her out—then again, he couldn't read people, especially after just a month. Not saying that Zack didn't know her because he did, but he didn't know a lot and most of the things he had learned about the eccentric redhead were from members of the McKinley staff.

Apparently, Mikayla was quite friendly with the staff. When Zack asked them about her, an amused smile would appear on their faces and they would say that the woman was anything but ordinary yet, you couldn't help but be drawn by her outgoing and infectious personality. Certain individuals informed the twenty-seven-year-old genius that Mikayla was very bright—a possible genius. She knew astronomy just as well as any professional astronomer, could beat anyone at chess, loved puzzles and figured them out in a matter of minutes, and was a chauvinist when it came to music being superb at the piano and singing. As well, many of the staff told Zack that Mikayla was sort of a trouble maker and loved pulling pranks on them, but with no ill intention.

That was all well and good, but Zack still felt like information didn't give him much insight as to why Mikayla was there and why she was so different than the other patients—maybe than anyone he had ever met. It seemed like the boyishly face man was going to have to find out by himself.

It was lunchtime and that was basically the only time that two could spend time together as their schedules at the loony bin didn't coincide with each other. Zack had gotten his lunch and situated himself at the table they usually sat at. Mikayla was nowhere to be seen, but she was always late for meal, so the floppy-haired brunet patiently waited for her eating his tray of slop—that the only word he could describe today's lunch as—quietly.

Suddenly, "ZAAAAACK-AAAATAAACK!"

Zack made a face knowing that unnecessarily loud shout and nickname. He knew he was never going to get use to it no matter how long he knew her.

Adverting his attention from his lunch, he turned the dark hues to the cafeteria's entrance. He looked just in time to see a flash of red and white swiftly slid past the doorway. There was a startled exclaimed following by what sounded like quite the painful 'THUD'. Zack winced knowing all too well that Mikayla had slid across the slippery and well-polished floors of the institute on just socks so fast that she had not control over her momentum resulting in her tripping and crashing to the floor. The only reason he knew that was because she had done it on more than one occasion since Zack and Mikayla had become acquainted. Mikayla had a knack of crashing her way into things.

Sighing deeply, Zack rose from the bench and made his way to the hall. He looked at blankly in search of the fallen woman. "Mikayla?" he called.

"Right here, man." came her buoyant and carefree voice from his left. She lying in a heap on the floor with a couple of brooms and a dustpan laying on and around her—a janitor must've been sweeping earlier.

Zack's brows furrowed as he peered down at her. "Are you alright, Mikayla?" He approached her and knelt down, picking the cleaning tools off of her slender her frame.

"Oh, yeah. Totally fabu, Zack-Attack. No harm done." the pale woman laughed, getting into a sitting position. "I'm built like a tank."

"That's not possible. A human's anatomy is not the same as the engineering of a tank." he pointed out, offering his black gloved hands to hers.

She rolled those icy hues of hers as he helped her get to her socked feet—she noticed that he discreetly winced when he did so like he always did when was doing slightly strenuous work with his hands. "I didn't mean it literally, dumbass. I meant that my body is tough, it takes a lot to make me bleed or break one of my bones." she told him dryly, dusting off her backside before picking up her shoes and the white and green thermos she was previously holding.

"Oh. I see. Why did you not just say that?" Zack said. "And I am not--"

"Yeah, yeah, I know you're not dumb. You're genius," Mikayla cut him off. She smoothed her crimson bangs from her face. "And I didn't just say that straight out 'cuz I keep forgetting that you speak like people did in the olden days." She began towards the cafeteria.

"Olden days?" Zack questioned, following after his only companion in this place.

"Y'know, the olden times. The time periods before the nineteenth century. You speak all properly and shit. No slang from the twenty-first century at all." the lanky muscled woman explained with a wave of her hands—her nails were black and neon green today.

"Oh..." He still didn't get, but he knew if he pressed the matter, he still wouldn't understand. The female's logic was way beyond anything his big brain could fathom. He just said nothing more on the subject and just trailed behind her into the lunch area.

The two sat at their usual table. Zack returned to his tray and Mikayla placed the thermos on the table. She, with an arched brow, looked at her companion's meal. "You're not honestly gonna eat that shit, are ya?" she asked in disgust. "It looks like throw up."

"Can you not say that?" Zack frowned. "Saying that it look like vomit makes consuming it harder."

"Then don't eat it, duh." Mikayla stated with a roll of her eyes while unscrewing the top to her thermos.

"Then, what am I supposed to eat? This is what they are serving for lunch today."

"Well, you can plan ahead like me and ask Kiki at the front desk to get you something more eatable."

"Excuse me?" He looked at her inquisitively.

Smirking that devilish smirk of hers, the blue-eyed girl waved the thermos before him. "Since I knew today was going to be one of the cafeteria's leftover days, I asked Kiki yesterday to make me some of her famous macaroni and cheese for today." she admitted smugly.

Zack blinked, his mouth watering a little—it had been a long time since he had had that, his favorite food. "Oh. That was a very good idea." he complimented stoically, his eyes glued to the thermos which contained the hot macaroni and cheese.

"Uh, duh. That's why I did it." Mikayla scoffed. She arched a brow when she saw how he was looking at the container hungrily. She smirked a bit. "You want some?" she sang tauntingly.

His eyes met hers mildly surprised. "You'd share your food with me?"

"Of course!" The person sitting across from him feigned horror, placing a hand on her chest. "What kind of friend would I be if I didn't share such delicious food and allowed you to devour such a horrid thing as that?" She pointed to the slop on his foam tray. When he just stared at her blankly, Mikayla deadpanned and said, "That means "yes"." _My awesome acting skills are wasted on him...,_ she thought with a sigh. _No one appreciates it._

"Thank you. I very much appreciate it." Zack nodded before rising.

Mikayla looked up at him weirdly. "Where are you going?"

"I was going to get myself a fork for the macaroni and cheese."

"Uh, no, you're not."

"Why not?"

"'Cuz you and I are sharing this one." She held up a white plastic fork that had come with the thermos. "Duh."

"You are saying "duh" a lot today," Then again, she said "duh" a lot every day. "And that's unsanitary, sharing a utensil. I will go get myself a fork."

"Don't be such a pussy," Mikayla retorted grabbing his elbow and pulling him back—he was still amazed by how strong she was. "I don't have cooties. Sharing a fork with me won't kill you. Using the cafeteria's might though."

"But--" he started to protest.

"Just shuddap, sit down, and eat." she ordered in exasperation, sitting him down on the bench next to her. Before he could argue further, Mikayla shoved cheesy macaroni into his mouth.

He stiffened with wide eyes. She looked at him nonchalantly. "Well, _chew_." she said.

Zack slowly did so and swallowed looking at her incredulously. "Was being that forceful necessary?" he demanded afterwards.

"Next time, do as I say with no complaints and I won't have to be." Mikayla reiterated, forking food into her mouth. In the corner of her eye, she saw him glaring, but she wasn't the least bit intimidated—not of Zack, no way. "Now, are you gonna eat this epically good Mac n' Cheese with me or are going to continue to bitch?" she said coolly.

He stared at her, but gave up with a deep sigh. She was so incredibly stubborn. "I will stop complaining and eat it with you." he muttered.

She beamed, her eyes becoming a soft crystal-hue. "Good boy." Mikayla held out her fork to him with macaroni and cheese stuck to the end of it. "Say "ah"!"

"You do not have to feed me. I am old enough to feed myself, Mikayla." Zack stated.

"But I wanna!" The dark-haired woman pouted out her pierced bottom lip, giving her best puppy dog eyes. "Please?" she begged childishly.

Once again, he sighed giving into her demands—how did she manage to do so? "Your ever changing moods are hard to follow." he told her before taking the food she offered him.

"So I've heard." she smirked, feeding herself.

After that, neither spoke for a while. They just ate their food leisurely. Well, Mikayla ate the Mac n' Cheese leisurely. Zack would glance to her apprehensively, not entirely enjoying or hating her feeding him as if he was an infant.

Mikayla noticed his glances, but said nothing about them. She was used to such looks, Sweets gave them to her all the time. They were looks that clearly read that they weren't sure what to make of the woman. It got annoying sometimes, but she blame them, especially Zack, but only because she didn't what to make of _him. _

From the minute they had met, Mikayla had known that Zack was ordinary—okay, that was an understatement. Zack didn't belong in McKinley's, no way. He stood out from everyone. He wasn't like all of the criminals there. The gloved man was different. A good different. Despite his stoned-face and almost robotic-like demeanor, he was kind, innocent, and gentle.

So what was he doing in the loony bin?

With her fork in her mouth, Mikayla's eyes drifted to the garden gloves covering his hand. _It must have something to do with those., _she concluded.

"So what's with the gloves, Zack-Attack?' Mikayla asked abruptly, holding out food to him. "Got something to hide?"

Zack halted in leaning over to the fork. He looked at her a bit startled. He had had a feeling that Mikayla would ultimately ask about why he covered his hands, but he hadn't expected today would be the day. That's why he didn't answer at first. Them, he leaned back in his seat pursing his lips tightly.

"There was an explosion," he began, gazing down at his hands. He continued when he knew that Mikayla was intently listening—she had a big mouth, but she knew when to listen. "Have you ever heard of Gormogon?" the young man inquired, turning to her.

"Sounds familiar." She shrugged, her tongue playing with the rounded violet bead on her lip ring. "Was he like a cannibal or something? He ran a cult, right? I don't have the full details of it, we don't get really in TV reception in here nor do we get updated newspaper." That was all true. Mental institution didn't have much need for television or newspapers, so they weren't all that good, but at least she had _some_ idea about who Gormogon was—Zack wasn't entirely sure that was a good thing on his part.

"Why?" She looked to him idly. A joking smile appeared on her almost alabaster face. "Are you Gormogon?"

"No, I was his apprentice." he said honestly, no emotion on his face.

Her smile faltered. "Oh," She looked away, saying nothing for a moment then, glanced back to him, "But you didn't kill or eat anyone." It wasn't a question. She _knew_ he hadn't done those things—maybe she was a genius.

"No, but I did tell the Master where to find one victim to be killed."

"So you're an accessory to murder?"

"Yes."

"You've never killed or ate anyone."

"Never. My lawyer made a deal for me to be declared compos mentis, so I'd end up here instead of prison."

Mikayla was silent. She tossed the fork into the inside of the thermos with more force than necessary. Zack frowned. Was she angry? That wasn't the reaction he hadn't been expecting; he had been suspecting disgust, horror, and disdain. Then again, Dr. Brennan had always told him not to jump to conclusions.

She took a deep breath through her nose and spoke her voice cool, "That doesn't explain what happened to your hands. All you said was that there was an explosion."

"Oh, yes. The explosion occurred in the lab of the Jeffersonian," he started. Mikayla knew all about his former job at the Jeffersonian as a forensic anthropologist from their past conversations—he didn't talk often, but when he did, it was mostly about that place and the people he worked with there. "It was distraction that I designed so that the Master could break into the lab and steal the skeleton he was working on. I suffered third-degree burns. Most of the cartilage in my left hand was destroyed. However, shockingly, my hands are healing quite well. I have about 60% normal use of them." Zack explained, holding up said appendages.

By the end of his speech, Mikayla was staring at him. There was no emotion on her elfish-looking face, but there was unreadable emotion in her eyes. She looked down at his hands on the table. "Do you mind?" the redhead pointed to them.

He hesitated, not sure if he wanted her to look at them or sure if she could handle it. Nonetheless, Zack just nodded to her. With such gentleness that Zack didn't except of someone like Mikayla slowly removed his gloves.

His chocolate eyes watched her closely. She didn't even flinch seeing the drastic scars, she just looked at them. For a while, she stared at them. Then, she traced a slightly rough, but warm index finger across each individual scar on the hand closest to her. Her face didn't change, but her eyes did. They became glassy and distant.

Various thoughts ran through Mikayla's mind. Yet, there was one similarity among all of them.

_Zack doesn't belong here..._

He wasn't a psychotic. He wasn't a murderer. He had no place here. Sure, he had helped an insane cannibal, but knowing him, this Gormogon person used Zack's weaker personality against him, using logic that Zack could understand. Zack wasn't at fault. If anybody was, it was that Gormogon bastard for abusing such a pure person.

"It's not right..." she whispered.

"Mikayla?" Zack called to her cautiously.

"You don't belong here." she snapped at him, glaring.

He took aback at her sudden enmity. "Wha-What?"

"You don't belong here. You don't deserve to be in a place like this. You're not like the other assholes here." she hissed, her eyes boring into his.

"But--"

"So what if you're an accessory to murder? It was a mistake. A mistake that doesn't deserve a punishment like this. You're not like these people." Mikayla threw her hand out, gesturing to the other patients in the cafeteria. She leaned closed to his face making him pull back instinctively. "You. Don't. Belong. Here. Your heart is too pure."

Zack eyes searched hers, brown getting lost in icy blue. He didn't understand her words, but her understand the words that she kept repeating: he didn't belong at McKinley. He thought that of her, but why did she think that of him, especially after everything she had heard?

"You do not belong here, Mikayla." were the words that escaped his lips without his control.

Mikayla scoffed at that, turning her head away. "No," she said, her voice as icy as her eyes. "I do belong here." She rose to her feet, taking the thermos with her. She walked around the table, starting to leave, but stopped, peering back at Zack over her shoulder. "Unlike you, I _have_ killed."

With that, she was gone leaving Zack glued to his spot, his eyes wide.

* * *

He couldn't concentrate on Sweets' words. All he could focus on was Mikayla's words.

"_Unlike you, I _have_ killed."_

They rang in his mind like bells.

That wasn't possible. Mikayla couldn't have killed someone. Murderers were cold, cruel, and heartless people, she was anything but that. Sure, she was crazy, but that didn't make her a bad person. Her personality was too jovial and inviting to be a murderer. But...

"_Unlike you, I _have_ killed."_

Could Mikayla be a killer?

"Dr. Addy," Lance Sweets' voice cut through his thoughts sharply like a knife. Zack blinked and glanced at the psychologist—they were supposed to be having a therapy session. "Have you heard a single word I've said?" the younger male inquired, looking annoyed by the older's lack of attention.

"No, I'm afraid I was thinking of other things." Zack confessed. "I'm sorry for my lack of focus." he apologized.

Sweets sighed deeply in frustration and leaned back in his seat. "What were you thinking about?"

"...Do you know of a Mikayla Kaplan?" Zack asked curiously. Sweets treated many at McKinley's but there was a possibility that he didn't treat her.

Sweets didn't know whether to be pleased or wary. "You've met." the young psychologist stated.

"We're friends of sorts."

"I see. She's an interesting woman, isn't she?"

"That is one word to describe her, yes."

Sweets just nodded. He raked a hand through his hair then, leaned forward, folding his hands on top of the table. "Why is she on your mind?" he inquired. Not that he blamed Zack for thinking of her, Mikayla left an impression on anyone who met her.

Zack's brows furrowed and his mouth became a tight straight line. "...Has Mikayla...has Mikayla killed someone?" he asked, fearing the answer.

_Mikayla certainly isn't one to beat around a bush., _Sweets thought regrettably. "She told you that did she?"

The other male paled. "So she has..." It wasn't physically possible, but he felt his stomach drop.

"Yes," Sweets nodded. "Two people actually."

"Oh..."

"It's not what you think though, Dr. Addy."

Zack's brows furrowed, looking at Sweets puzzled. "I don't understand."

Sweets shook his head. "Of course she didn't tell you the entire story." he whispered to himself. Then, he spoke aloud to Zack, "It was self-defensive on Mikayla's part."

"Self-defense?"

"Yes. Mikayla, before she was omitted, came from a very abusive family. Both her mother and father. She and her brother went through it for years. Her brother, Felix only managed to escape when he graduated high school and went to a college far away. However, Mikayla was left behind to get the full force of the abuse. One night, when she was seventeen, she decided she couldn't take anymore. They were killing her slowly. She grabbed her father's gun from the closet. Mikayla was just going to use as a warning, as a distraction so she could escape her house—she didn't even know there were any bullets inside—but her hands were shaking so badly that her finger slipped and she shot them both. She belong here as much as much as you do, which is not at all

"...But, she did actually kill."

"It was an accident, Dr. Addy."

"From your statement, so it would seem..."

Sweets studied Zack's face. "You still have doubts."

Zack did. Blood tainted his hands, they covered hers. That's what was one part of him was telling him yet, another was telling him that Mikayla was still Mikayla, his friend. His enigmatic and unique friend, but his friend, nevertheless. She was the only person that he could talk to in McKinley and was the only person he _wanted_ to talk to. But she had killed. He was in conflict, two sides of him were fighting each other. He knew that wasn't possible, but he the word "torn" came to mind being the only way to describe his different siding thoughts.

"I do..." he muttered finally, his voice barely audible.

Sweets frowned. Then, he stood. Zack looked up at him. "Is our session over?"

"No," Sweets answered with a shake of his head. "I want to show you something. Follow me, please."

Zack hesitated, but only for a second before following the other male out of the room and into the hallway. D looked at them quizzically until Sweets whispered in the man's ear where he was planning on taking Zack. D nodded and permitted such, motioning them to get a move on. Sweets thanked the older and darker male before continuing down the hall. Zack followed, questions flooding in his brain.

* * *

They walked for a while, but neither spoke. Questions were running through Zack's head, making him itch to ask them, but didn't see Sweets was intent on whatever he was searching for. Sweets was leading Zack through various halls, the psychologist's eyes dancing from door to door.

_She always goes there around this time, but which room was it?, _Sweet thought to himself.

Then, he finally remembered which room Mikayla was in everyday at that time. Smiling a little, Sweets found the door and motioned his patient to follow, which Zack did obediently. Sweets signaled Zack to keep quiet before slowly and silently opening the room's door.

The minute it was opened, music hit Zack's ears. Someone was playing the piano and if the genius knew his Beethoven well, which he did, then whoever was playing the piano was playing his second sonata and perfectly.

Zack brows furrowed, looking at Sweets expectantly. Just grinning very lightly, Sweets signaled him to look inside. His creased further, but did as he told. He looked into the room only to have astonishment take over him.

Sitting alone in the empty, but large room was Mikayla. She was sitting beneath an opened window with an electric keyboard set to classical piano set on her propped legs. Her eyes were closed as her body swayed to the music her fingers caused. She looked so serene and angelic compared to how energetic and devilish she appeared normally.

Zack glanced back to Sweets, who looked like he was enjoying the tiny concert. "Why are you showing me this, Dr. Sweets?" he asked softly, fretting that he might disturb the girl inside.

Sweets closed the door, looking reluctant and turned to Zack. "Do you have any more doubts?" he queried seriously. When Zack looked at him confused, Sweets elaborated, "Can you still think Mikayla is a coldblooded killer, who belongs here after listening to that beautiful music, after seeing how peaceful she looked? No murderer has the compassion or innocence to be like that."

Zack was silent, not knowing to say. Sweets logical made no sense, his view of murderers and Mikayla was irrational yet, they pulled at a cord within Zack just like Mikayla's music and expression did.

Sweets searched the other man's face, pleased by his silence and pensive face. "It's just something to think about, Dr. Addy. Does Mikayla really belong here? And do you for that matter."


End file.
